Coma Whisperer

Day 3

∞DAY 3∞

Meet The Family & The Roomie

After taking my breakfast at a small 24/7 diner a few blocks near the hospital, I decided to look at the shops nearby—only to stop at a dainty flower shop to admire a bunch of freshly plucked chrysanthemums of various colors... The beauty and the aroma exuded by the blooms caught my attention much that I didn't notice a bike speeding off narrowly hitting my left rib cage and knocking me off to a row of pots—almost breaking them.

Agaaaaaay. I could already imagine an ugly bruise that would stay there for a while—not to mention, it would probably hurt more than your first heartbreak or... your mother deciding to let you go to school without allowance. I chuckled despite the pain I felt which is strongly ringing on my ears like a bitch. Matay, I could vividly imagine my lukaret best friends agreeing with me while shouting "HUGOOOOT!!!" at the top of their lungs.

"Jesus-woman! You technically got run over by speeding jerk and had managed to almost murder my plants yet you have the gall to sprawl on the floor and chuckle as if you're part of a television show??" A guy about my age stood before me, hands on his hips and sporting a somewhat annoyed expression.

I tried to stand but the pain suddenly intensified leaving me a bit light-headed. The guy merely caught me mid-fall, and instead of a full out panic, he surprised me by calmly carrying me inside the flower shop, maneuvering slowly but surely into a wooden seat before gently placing me in it.

I was about to voice out my gratitude when he left momentarily only coming back a few moments later with a glass of water and some medicine which I bet would be painkillers. And I'm right.

"How are you feeling?" He asked me.

"Peachy."

"With the speed that asshole was going, you're lucky to get away with only that—I mean you could've gotten a pretty decent bump and worse a concussion or some cuts. May I take a look at it?" He said gesturing that I lift my shirt so he could check the injury.

On a normal day, I would have been stubborn and denied him the request... or maybe flat-out accuse him of taking liberties on me (Chaar ako na!). But since none of what happened a few moments ago would I consider normal, except of course the 'accidents' caused on my own volition if you would even consider it as that. Plus the guy don't seem to come across as one to take advantage of me—if you considered the things he's done for me so far, which has entirely been purely kind. That or the dimples that keeps showing every time he talks has some kind of gayuma in it.

Yes. I'm pretty much convinced it was the latter.

So I lifted my shirt—enough to show him a vast expanse of my stomach, but not to the extent of flashing him my tattas. Excuse me dalagang Filipina to no!

What came next almost had me howling with pain & laughter. Pain, because the son of a gun decided it would be fun to poke my injury, and laughter 'cause for the life of me, I want to screech 'Wag jan, wag jan-may kiliti ako jan!' like that of a song sung by a girl-group from my country, Sexbomb. It would have been embarrassingly epic.

"Ow... Satanas ka! Sak-sakun taman ka karun ba... Agaaaaay mamaaaaaa!" I murmured as intense pain seems to shoot out at all places as he continued prodding my tummy. [Ow... You Satan! I'm gonna stab you! Ouch... mama!]

If he showed even a small emotion close to perverted, I would have screamed bloody murder and proceeded to perform what my tito Barto taught me to protect myself from perverted foreigners if the situation ever arises... but he only threw my state a calculative-intelligent look as if he knew what he was doing. He probably did, much to my chagrin... Thank God though, I don't think I could ever squeeze his balls—let alone-squeeze it tight till it burst like what Tito told me to do.